


Give Her a Chance

by cowpuppy



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Detective Peggy, F/F, Period-Typical Sexism, Self-Defense Lessons, Vigilante Angie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:52:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4806962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowpuppy/pseuds/cowpuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Peggy Carter offers self-defense lessons to the women of New York, she attracts an unusual student: Angie Martinelli, a waitress with a penchant for getting hurt. As their lessons--and attraction--intensify, so does Peggy's investigation with the NYPD. A gangster has reclaimed Angie's neighborhood for his own, terrorizing the populace.</p><p>But a vigilante has appeared, taking on the mob single-handedly. Over and over, he escapes both their retribution and the grasp of the police. Peggy races to find the masked fighter and bring down the head of the mob once and for all, only to crash headlong into her feelings for Angie... and the secrets Angie has been keeping.</p><p>With her job and her life on the line, Peggy must decide just how much she is willing to risk for a chance at happiness.</p><p>[AU - Same time period, but Peggy is a detective with the NYPD.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Self-defense lessons for women. Classes meet weekly. Students will learn basic self-defense techniques with the intent to protect themselves in hostile environments._

_Instructor: Detective Peggy Carter, former member of the British Armed Forces._

Peggy peered over the top of the newspaper, regarding her companion with all the severity of a librarian. “I don’t see the problem.”

Howard leaned on his work bench, some sort of weapon disemboweled behind him, and shook his head. “It’s dull, Peg.”

“It’s clear and concise.”

“Yeah. Clear, concise, and boring. Here, listen to this: ‘Fellas giving you trouble? Mob shaking you down for your last cent? Come to Peggy’s Self-Defense Seminar. Learn to take down guys twice your size without breaking a nail.’” Howard grinned as Peggy’s frown deepened. “And you might add that the instructor is a leggy brunette with curves that could kill.”

Peggy glared at him as she rolled up the newspaper. “I doubt I’d ever get that into print.”

“You’d be surprised.” He quirked an eyebrow and the color drained from Peggy’s face.

“Howard. No. Don’t you dare.”

He laughed.

Mouth drawing into a tight line, she swatted him with the paper. He yelped, recoiling, and she raised it for another strike.

“Ouch! All right, all right,” he said, lifting his hands in defense. “I won’t print that, I promise.”

“For your sake, you’d better not.” She relaxed, tapping the paper on her knee; Howard’s eyes followed the motion. “There’s not a gadget you could invent that would save you from me.”

“Don’t I know it!” He caught her eye, then smiled.

She frowned. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I gotta say, I’m glad you’re doing this. I think it’ll be good for you.”

“My well-being has nothing to do with this.”

“Well, I know it’s not the point of this whole thing, but it’s a side-effect. You pullin’ away from the job a little bit, talking to people who aren’t me or those meathead coworkers of yours. It’s been a while.”

The newspaper stilled above her leg; it crinkled as her fingers tightened. “You mean since Steve.”

“Well, yeah.”

The tapping resumed. She shook her head. “I miss him.”

“I know. I do, too.”

Her eyes drifted away from him. “I taught him, you know. Before he was the great Captain America. He knew something of self-defense, things he learned on his own, but I wanted…” She studied her hands. “If it didn’t work, if he had to go back to his old life, I wanted him to be able to protect himself as best he could. You saw what he made of it.”

Howard nodded, watching her. She released the newspaper, setting it on the desk beside Howard. “I suppose I think that I did it once, and I can do it again. I want everyone to have the same chance he did.”

“With you teachin’ ‘em, Peg,” said Howard, smiling, “they will.”

* * *

Peggy waved as middle-aged Mrs. Hall climbed into a cab and left her behind. When the cab was out of sight, her smile cracked and she sighed, the weight of yet another evaded matchmaking attempt slipping from her shoulders. She couldn’t rebuff the woman—her _only_ student—but she wished she had someone else to talk to in the moments between the end of class and locking the studio door.

Speaking of which… Peggy fished out her keys.

“Wait! Hold up!”

Peggy’s eyes snapped toward the voice. A young woman flew down the sidewalk, one hand outstretched and the other holding her cap to her head.

“Yes?” Peggy locked the door and turned to the stranger, who had stopped a few feet away, hands on her knees as she caught her breath.

“Are—you—Peggy—Carter?”

Peggy dropped the key into her purse and snapped it shut. “I am.”

“Great. Wonderful.” The woman straightened, wiping her forehead. “I’ve been meanin’ to catch you. You run the self-defense classes?”

“I do. Today’s class has just ended.”

“Oh, I know.” The woman smiled. “I wanna know, any chance you can set up a lesson at a different time? It’s just that my shift at the automat ends right about, well, now. And you’re the only one in the city offerin’ classes who isn’t a creepy old fella.”

“I don’t—” Peggy paused, pressing her lips together, as the woman’s face began to fall. She sighed. “I don’t see why not.”

A smile spread across the waitress’s face, and she launched herself toward Peggy, clinging to her like clothes in a heat wave. “Thanks! Oh, man, I was so scared for a second you were gonna say no.”

Peggy extricated herself and straightened her blouse. “Yes, well, I have a vested interest in seeing that the women of this city are safe.” She hoisted her purse over her shoulder. “What time works best for you?”

“Oh, a half hour from now is fine,” said the waitress. “I mean, not _now_ now, but startin’ next week. Now, I gotta get back to the L &L ‘cause I kinda skipped out early and forgot to grab my paycheck.”

Peggy shook her head, a smile peeking out from behind her lips. “Very well. Next week, same time, same place. I’ll be waiting upstairs for you.”

“Thanks again, English. You won’t regret it! But now I really gotta get goin’! Have a good one!” The woman made to walk away, but Peggy called out.

“Wait.”

The waitress raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know your name.”

The woman laughed and lifted open her jacket, flashing the nametag beneath. “Angie,” she said, tapping the little placard. “Angie Martinelli.”

She popped her hand into the space between them, and Peggy gripped it, Angie’s warm callouses tickling Peggy’s palm, Angie’s thumb fitting snug over a not-quite-healed cut streaking across Peggy’s hand. Angie squeezed, and Peggy pulled away.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Martinelli,” said Peggy.

“Likewise,” said Angie. She winked.

* * *

Peggy curled against the wall of the studio, massaging her temples. Mrs. Hall had just left, twenty percent enthused for Peggy’s news of a new student and eighty percent enthralled, _still_ , by the idea of Peggy marrying her son.

Peggy estimated a fifty percent chance that the young man matched his mother’s description, and a zero percent chance that the wedding would ever occur.

The door rattled. A knock sounded and a specter appeared in the frosted glass window: “English? You there?”

Peggy sprang to her feet, padding barefoot across the room. “Yes! Coming!”

Angie raised an eyebrow as Peggy turned the lock and pulled the door open. “Gee, Peg, you sure aren’t paranoid or anything.”

“One can never be too careful.” Peggy shut—and locked—the door behind her new student. “This _is_ a self-defense class, after all.”

“Sure, I get it,” said Angie. She pulled off her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse. “But are you really tellin’ me you can’t handle anything that comes bustin’ through that door?”

Free of her blouse and skirt, Angie pulled a pair of shorts and a cotton shirt from her bag, grinning at Peggy as she dressed. Peggy crossed her arms.

“I can handle everything short of Captain America himself, thank you—“

“I could do a lot more’n _handle_ him,” muttered Angie—

“—but that isn’t the point. If you’re looking to defend yourself, or to defend someone else, there is no place for cocksure swagger. A locked door gives you time. In the moments it takes an attacker to break through a door, you can assess the situation and react accordingly, whether that’s to arm yourself, secure a positional advantage, or even flee the scene.”

“What, you mean run away?” Angie’s brows curled.

“That is exactly what I mean.” Peggy rolled her shoulders, and the cracks sent shivers through her like ripples on still water. “If you signed up looking to learn how to cause harm, the door is right behind you. But if you’re here because the deck is stacked against you and you want to give yourself a fighting chance of reaching your eightieth birthday, then you won’t find a better teacher.”

She cracked her knuckles. “So? What brings you here, Miss Martinelli?”

Angie crossed her arms over her chest, fingers brushing the chill from her skin. “The second one,” she said. “I want a chance.”

Peggy smiled. “Good.”

* * *

“I’m tellin’ ya, I’m all right.”

Peggy popped up from her desk like a napping dog at the first scent of food. She scanned the room for the owner of the voice.

“I’m sure you are, Miss,” said the officer escorting the woman, and Peggy zeroed in on him. “But we’d like to take a statement all the same.”

“But I gotta get home.” Angie lifted her face toward the officer, gripping his arm. Peggy gasped; a bruise flooded the other woman’s cheek. “Can’t I at least call someone? Let ‘em know where I am?”

The officer sighed. “ _Fine_. But make it quick, okay? I gotta get home too!”

He led Angie to his phone, and Peggy watched them through a thicket of uniforms and detectives, her work forgotten on her desk. They settled at a desk across the room.

Angie talked with her lips and with her hands and with her body. Eyebrows rose and fell, fingers sketched shapes, shoulders rolled.

Peggy rested her face on her fist, turned her eyes toward her work, let her brows nestle in concentration, looking for all the world like a hardworking detective. But her mouth lay hidden behind her fist and the teeth buried in her lip remained concealed from everyone else.

“Thank you, Miss Martinelli,” said the detective, his voice filtering through the room. “You’re free to go.”

“Finally,” said Angie, hauling her bag over her shoulder, though she grinned and thanked the officer. He watched her leave and blinked when Detective Carter scurried out the door after her.

“Angie! Wait, Angie!” Peggy hustled down the steps of the police station, lips pulling into a smile when Angie stopped and turned.

“Peggy? I didn’t know you were here!”

“I work here,” said Peggy.

“Secretary?”

Peggy shook her head. “Detective.”

Angie’s eyes swelled and her jaw dropped. “Oh, wow. That’s really somethin’. But I guess I shoulda guessed, you teachin’ self-defense and everything.”

Peggy shrugged. “It’s all right. It’s an easy assumption to make.” She studied Angie, eyes slipping to the bruise on Angie’s cheek. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

“You’re askin’ if you can ask?” Angie laughed. “Sure, you can ask, or I can just give you the answer straightaway. I got mugged.”

“Angie, no! Are you all right? Was he caught? Can I help?”

“Oh, please, English. If I wasn’t all right, I wouldn’t be here.” Angie’s grin grew. “Thanks for askin’ though. And yeah, they got him. Just wanted to ask me a few questions about it.”

“Good riddance,” said Peggy, nails biting her palm. “I’m so glad you’re safe, though, and relatively unhurt.”

“I’ve got brothers,” said Angie, rubbing the bruise. “Believe it or not, I’ve had worse. The real stinker is I’m gonna lose tips because of it, just you watch. Guys tip the pretty girls the best.”

“How ridiculous,” said Peggy, snorting. “You’re still lovely.”

As a sly grin split Angie’s cheeks, Peggy’s filled with color.

“Well, thanks, English. Means a lot comin’ from a looker like you.” Angie winked. “But, you know, I really outghta thank you. If it weren’t for your classes this coulda been a lot worse.”

Peggy shook the ‘looker’ comment from her mind. “Oh?”

“Yeah, he grabbed me first and I got away. Gave me enough time to scream for help. He still gave me the shiner but some local boys pulled him off before he could do anything else.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Peggy frowned. “Where did the attack occur?”

“I wasn’t walkin’ down any dark alleys, English, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Oh, no, definitely not. It’s just that this is actually the third similar assault in a very short span of time and I wonder if it’s related.”

“Well, in that case, it was Little Italy,” said Angie.

“So it was the same place.” Peggy hummed. “It could very well be the same man.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.” Angie scowled. “Place has been gettin’ rough lately if you ask me. It was gettin’ nicer after they put Tommy Danielli away, but they say he got out and went right back to work. No one’s seen him or anythin’, but all his old cronies’ve come back.” She sighed. “Lots of folks are movin’ out. If I get a chance I might follow ‘em.”

“Just keep yourself safe,” said Peggy.

“Aw, English.” Angie’s scowl softened, a smile hiding in the corners of her mouth. “You worried about me?”

“I’m sure you’re quite capable; in fact, given today, I _know_ you’re quite capable, but…”

Angie shook her head. “It’s okay, I get it. Thanks.” She studied Peggy a moment, eyes narrowing in thought, then her smile exploded. She leaned in, rested a hand on Peggy’s arm, and pressed her lips to Peggy’s cheek. “You’re sweet.”

She pulled away and Peggy held her hand over the spot, as if a breeze might steal it away. Angie bid her goodbye, and Peggy thought her mouth might have formed the words in return, but she couldn’t be sure.

Pulling a kerchief from her pocket, heart pattering like rain against a rooftop, she wiped lipstick from her cheek. She folded the square of fabric and tucked it away.

* * *

“Sousa.”

He glanced up from his coffee. “Huh?”

Peggy turned toward him as they sat on a bench in Grand Central. “I think Tommy Danielli’s gang is reforming in Little Italy.”

He looked down at her, tucked beneath his arm. She pressed against him, but her eyes scanned the station.

“What?” He leaned away. “We’d have noticed.”

“He’s been careful.” She smiled, patting his knee. “You’re so clever, honey,” she said, just loud enough to be overheard, though her growl tickled his ribs.

“Sorry,” he said. “I hate this undercover stuff, too.”

“It’s not your fault.” She leaned back again, playing with his fingers where they dangled over her shoulder. “There haven’t been any obvious moves, but violent crime is up. And each one of his old friends has moved back into the neighborhood.”

Sousa sipped his coffee. “So maybe one of _them_ is reforming the gang.”

“It doesn’t matter who’s reforming the gang,” said Peggy. “Though I do think it’s Danielli. The point is that the gang is back and causing trouble.”

“So what do you want to do about it? Hey, that him?”

He nudged her, tilting his head toward a reedy man struggling with an oversized suitcase.

Peggy eyed the man and shook her head. “No. And I want to investigate, because as much as I have a feeling I’m right, this is still just conjecture. But you know the Captain will never listen to the idea if it comes from me.”

Sousa leaned his head back, face tilted toward the ceiling. “I know.” He sighed. “You shouldn’t put up with that. You’re as vital a part of the force as any of the guys.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then we should do something about it!” It bubbled out of him, louder than he expected. Tourists and passerby stopped, startled, to stare at him. Peggy glared, digging her nails into his leg.

“Ow.”

“ _I_ will do something about it. Just not now. Believe me, I know my worth and I don’t intend to let anyone forget it. But right now, I don’t have time for the arguments. If Danielli’s gang is reforming, we need to be two steps ahead of them.”

Sousa huffed. “I still don’t like it.”

“I know. Thank you. That’s him.” She lifted her chin toward another thin man, this one carrying a briefcase and wearing a pinched expression. Sousa stood; she handed him his crutch and he offered her his hand.

“You know,” he said, as she mimed accepting his help, though she stood entirely under her own power, “if you’re right about this… the minute we’re sure, I’m telling the Captain I stole your idea.”

“I won’t stop you.” She straightened her skirt. “Ready?”

He grinned. “Lead on, Detective Carter.”

* * *

“Break!” Angie gasped, flopping to the mats. “Need. A. Break!”

Peggy handed her a canteen—hoarded from her time in the army—and smirked.

“Is this too much for you?”

“Hell no!” Angie snatched the canteen and took a gulp. She reclined, propped on the heels of her palms. “But it’s August and it’s a million degrees in here and I need a moment.”

“Very well.” Peggy plucked the canteen from Angie’s outstretched fingers. “You may have a moment.”

“You’re a real stern taskmaster,” said Angie, as Peggy sipped. “You know that?”

Peggy hummed. “I _was_ in the army, after all. Someone had to keep Captain Rogers in line.”

Angie snapped up, jaw dropping as she gaped at Peggy. “No. You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“What was he like?”

“Oh no,” said Peggy, laughing. “You are _not_ distracting me. Your break is over.”

“C’mon, English…” Angie groaned as Peggy stepped in front of her.

“Up, Miss Martinelli.” She extended a hand.

Angie grumbled, but took it, her hand sliding into Peggy’s like the slipper onto Cinderella’s foot.

_Cinderella? Bloody Nora._

Peggy tightened her grip and yanked Angie up; Angie yelped and tripped. Peggy stumbled, but caught her, a hand falling to her waist.

Angie winced and recoiled. Color drained from her face.

“Sorry.” The word hissed through Angie’s clenched teeth. Her fingers burrowed in her shirt, jerking it down over her hip.

“Are you all right?” Peggy stepped toward her. Angie shied away.

“It’s nothin’.”

“It is clearly _not_ nothing. Are you injured?”

“I’m fine.”

“Angie!”

“It’s just a little bruise.”

Breaths filled Peggy like gasoline in a combustion chamber. But Angie’s hands twisted in her shirt and her hair fell into her face and her eyes sank to the floor.

A valve loosened, and Peggy breathed again.

“Angie,” she said. “I’m just concerned. I don’t want to make it worse, whatever it is.”

“It really is just a bruise,” said Angie.

Peggy’s lips curled—her brain signaled _smile_ but the result was closer to a grimace. “But not a little one, is it?”

Angie shook her head.

“May I see it?” Peggy crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not a doctor—or anything of the sort—but the army does teach some basic remedies.”

Angie chuckled. “Is there anything you _can’t_ do?”

“I can’t make a soufflé,” said Peggy. She chuckled. “Please, Angie.”

Angie sighed, and lifted her shirt.

The gasp shot from Peggy’s lungs like a bullet. The bruise crawled over Angie’s entire hip, blue and purple, red and yellow, curdling beneath the skin. Peggy touched it, and Angie jerked like a bucking bronco.

“Oh, Angie.” Peggy’s voice fell to a whisper. “What on earth happened to you?”

“Walked into the counter at work. I know, I look like I got beat up.”

“That’s an understatement.” Peggy freed Angie’s shirt from her padlocked knuckles and slid it back down. She glanced at Angie’s face; Angie refused to meet her eyes.

“So,” said Angie. “Got any advice for me, Miss Battlefield Medicine?”

“Rest,” said Peggy. “And visit a doctor.”

“Rest is gonna be hard to come by, English,” said Angie. “Gotta work, you know.”

“I’m aware. I mean this.” She waved a hand at the room. “Take a week off.”

“What? No!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Angie,” said Peggy. “Besides, you must be getting a little tired of me.”

“Aw, jeez, English. I’d never get tired of you.” Angie laughed and winked; Peggy hoped her cheeks would refrain from bubbling with color.

No such luck.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” said Peggy.

“It’s just the truth.” Angie shrugged. Her foot began to tap. “Well, you know, if I’m takin’ a break from comin’ here to see you… maybe you wanna come see me instead? Not this same time, the L&L’s closed now, but… if you showed up durin’ my shift I think I could find a spare piece of pie for you.”

Peggy laughed. “I do love pie.”

“So you’ll come?” Angie grabbed Peggy’s hand.

Stifling the impulse to jerk away, Peggy squeezed Angie’s hand back instead. “Absolutely.”

* * *

The man sank in his chair as Thompson interrogated him.

“Didn’t see his face,” said the man: Arturo Clementi, a known associate of Tommaso Danielli. “Just came out of nowhere.”

A bruise purpled Art’s eye and his teeth gaped where he’d lost a tooth.

“One man knocked three guys out without any of you seeing his face?” Thompson drummed his fingers on the table. “I don’t believe it.”

Art glared at him. “Believe it or not,” he said, “it’s the truth.”

“Okay,” said Thompson, rolling his eyes. “What did he look like?”

“I don’t know.” Clementi shrugged. “Regular height. Regular clothes, just slacks and a white shirt. Didn’t see his face… he had a hat and a bandana. Like some kind of wild west bandit.”

Thompson groaned and massaged his temples. “Can I have one day without having to deal with some kind of freak show? Just one? God, I hate this city.”

Behind the one-way mirror, Peggy drummed her fingers on her arms.

“I don’t like this,” said Sousa, beside her. “I hate to agree with Thompson, but what kind of maniac wears a mask to take on three heavily armed mobsters?”

“Someone with a death wish, perhaps. But I don’t know if I’d label him insane. Yes, he was outnumbered, but he escaped mostly unharmed, if Mr. Clementi is telling the truth. He knew what he was doing.”

“But why not call the cops?” Sousa shook his head. “Whoever this guy is, this is just asking for people to get hurt.”

Peggy narrowed her eyes as Art sidestepped all of Thompson’s questions about Danielli. “Perhaps he feels that we’ve failed him. Danielli was supposed to rot behind bars for the rest of his natural life, but now he’s back on the streets, back to his old habits.”

“Yeah, sort of,” said Sousa. “Except the fact that he’s gone completely AWOL, yet still manages to get orders to his guys.”

Peggy hummed. “Yes. And he has trained them very well to prevent them from talking.” She leaned toward the window as a wild-eyed Arturo sweated, staring down Thompson and refusing to even mention Tommaso Danielli.

She drew herself to her full height. “I want to keep an eye out for this… masked vigilante. I don’t approve of his methods, but he knew where Clementi and the others would be tonight, so he must have some source. If we get the chance, bring him in. I want to know who he is and what he knows.”

“And in the meantime, while we’re searching?”

“In the meantime,” she said, “we’re going to release Mr. Clementi. Have him tailed. Find out who’s giving him orders. Find out who’s giving _them_ orders. We’ll follow this chain to the top, we’ll find Danielli, and then we’ll put him away for good.”

* * *

Peggy peeked through the door of the L&L and a smile rose on her face.

Angie—the sole person in the automat—danced between the tables, a mop in her hands. A song tumbled from her lips as she swayed.

_A rose must remain in the sun and the rain or its lovely promise won’t come true…_

Peggy slipped through the door and ushered it closed. The incandescent light scattered around the waitress, its edges bent and folded by Angie’s curves and curls.

_To each his own, to each his own…_

Peggy leaned against the doorframe, and as Angie sang, a hum eddied in her throat. She smothered it, or tried to, but Angie dipped, cradling the mop, and Peggy stepped toward her, ensnared in Angie’s song.

“…and my own is you.”

She thought she’d been quiet, but Angie leaped, whirling on Peggy, fists raised, face steely. In quick succession: she flinched. Her features snapped into surprise. She pressed her hand to her chest. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. You tryin’ to kill me?”

“I’m so sorry.” Peggy ventured another step toward Angie. “I didn’t mean… I just, I happen to _actually_ know that song, so I…”

Angie pushed her curls back into place—Peggy’s eyes followed the trail of her fingers, the push, the tuck, the arch—and batted away Peggy’s attempts to soothe her. “It’s all right. You just surprised me, is all.” Composing herself, she fixed Peggy with a look, raising her eyebrow and twisting her lips.

“What?” Peggy’s mien crinkled as she searched Angie’s face. “Is something wrong?”

“You didn’t tell me you could sing,” said Angie.

Peggy blushed—a near-Pavlovian response to Angie’s every word—and shook her head. “I… thank you, I—“

“Oh, God, English!” Angie’s hands leapt to her falling lips, eyes jolting wide.

“What? What now?”

“What are we still doin’ standin’ here? I promised you a seat and a slice of pie! And you in those heels!” She grabbed Peggy’s hand, flipping Peggy’s stomach like an egg in a frying pan, and dragged the other woman to the counter. “You sit,” She anchored both hands on Peggy’s shoulders and shoved her into the seat, “I’ll get you pie, and _then_ we can talk about that voice of yours.”

Peggy tried to protest, but Angie bustled away before she could even think of a response and returned moments later with a slice of pie. The waitress propped herself on the counter and grinned.

“Okay,” said Angie, light glinting in her eyes. “Why ain’t I ever heard you sing before?”

Peggy laughed. “You signed up for self-defense lessons, not singing lessons. Not that I’d be qualified to give those.”

“Yeah, but still. I feel like I’ve known you long enough, I oughta know that about you.”

“Well, our time together is devoted to learning a very specific skill. We don’t really talk, do we?”

“You know, I had an ex break up with me sayin’ the exact same thing.” She drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Is it weird, me askin’ these questions?”

“It’s a little strange,” said Peggy, and Angie’s face cracked like glass, and Peggy sputtered. “I mean, strange _for me_. I don’t talk about myself much.”

“I can stop,” said Angie, “if I’m makin’ you uncomfortable.”

“No. Angie…” Peggy reached out, gripping Angie’s hand. “It’s different, but it’s… nice. I like knowing someone’s interested.”

Tension melted from Angie’s shoulders and a grin lit her face. “Well, good. Because I’m interested.” Her eyes widened. “I just mean that you’re interestin’. You’re an interestin’ person. Anyone would say so.”

Peggy smirked. “Would they?”

“Yeah! Detective Peggy Carter, former army lady and Captain America’s boss, which she still has to tell me about, teaches fightin’ and has an awful good singin’ voice… I could go on.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Angie flashed a lopsided grin. “I know, that sounds ridiculous.” The smile softened, sinking beneath the curve of her lips. “But I really do think you’re swell.”

As Angie’s smile dissolved, Peggy’s heart fluttered. Her lungs seized and her words eked out. “I assure you, it’s mutual.”

“Good.” Angie took a deep breath and capped it with a huff. She leaned forward, propping herself up on her elbows. “So, the singin’?”

Peggy rolled her shoulders and tension crackled off of her like moisture from a burning log. “Oh, that. Well, I don’t really sing often. I work long hours and a police department isn’t exactly conducive to that sort of activity. But I had singing lessons while I was at school and I quite enjoyed them. And when I saw you singing, I couldn’t help but join in.”

“School, huh?” Angie grinned. “Don’t tell me, you went to a fancy-pants boardin’ school.”

“Well, yes,” said Peggy.

“With a uniform? A pinafore dress and knee-high stockings?” Angie stifled a giggle.

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. Lord, I hated that thing. Most of us did away with it after hours. Some girls stripped down to their knickers and stayed that way until morning.”

“’Some girls’? You tryin’ to tell me something?”

“Oh, shush.” Peggy rolled her eyes. “I _may_ have unbuttoned my blouse beyond the limits of propriety, but it was an all-girls school; it wasn’t anything any of us hadn’t seen before.”

“I dunno, Peg, I kinda think _your_ blouse was hidin’ somethin’ more’n your classmates ever saw in a mirror. But anyway,” she said, breezily, as Peggy choked on her pie, “I thought you British girls were s’posed to be…“—she lifted her nose and affected an accent—“…the pinnacle of refinement.”

“Oh, we’re quite refined,” Peggy said, dabbing her lips with a napkin, “when we want to be. But we can have just as much fun as you brash American girls.”

Angie planted her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow, and Peggy crossed her arms over her chest. Her heart knifed between her ribs; a single curl had pulled loose from Angie’s hair and dangled over her forehead.

Then a full-fledged smirk breathed into life on Angie’s lips. “Maybe some of you can, but I still don’t know about you, Miss British Armed Forces. You seem awful stiff… but who knows, maybe you’re more flexible than my imagination lets on.”

Peggy sank her teeth into her tongue and a chill snaked down her spine; only the heat already pinking her cheeks stopped them from flooding like a river in a storm. “The army does reinforce that sort of thing,” she said, after an epoch.

“Well, you ought to start workin’ on _un_ -enforcin’ it. Let’s have a girl’s night out sometime soon. I’ll treat you; it’ll be my thanks for makin’ the time for me in your busy schedule.”

“Angie, you already pay me for the lessons.”

“And I wouldn’t even have the chance to pay you if you’d’ve told me you couldn’t spare the hour for me. Come on, English, you know I ain’t gonna take no for an answer.”

Peggy huffed. “Very well. But you can pay for _one_ drink, and no more.”

Angie squealed with delight and leapt at Peggy, pulling her into a hug over the counter. “This is gonna be so much fun! We’re gonna paint the town red, you and me!”

Extricating herself and ignoring the sensation brewing in her chest, Peggy smiled. “How does next weekend sound? I have to make progress on a case at work first or I’ll never be able to leave.”

“You do what you need to do,” said Angie. “Just wear something nice, all right? I know a place. You’re gonna love it.”

Angie’s grin grew and grew, and Peggy wondered how her cheeks didn’t have growing pains. But the corners of her own lips rose to match, Angie’s reflection dancing in her eyes. “I look forward to it.”

* * *

Angie’s proposed girl’s night slipped from “this weekend, don’t forget!” to “I’m so sorry, somethin’ came up… next week?” to “gosh, English, I’ve been awful busy lately. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

And yet, for all that, the waitress made time for their self-defense lessons every week.

Those blasted self-defense lessons.

“Sometimes,” said Peggy, stepping behind Angie, “an attacker will wrap his arms around your neck from behind.” She mimicked her words, forearms looping around Angie’s throat. The action brought her flush against Angie’s back, and tingles rippled over her skin.

She cleared her throat. “Ideally, you want to prevent your attacker from getting this far.” She pulled away, and the electricity coursing through her snapped off with a shock. “So, ah, if I was to try to grab you…”

Peggy stepped in, arms falling slower this time, giving Angie time to think.

“I could get my arm in the way,” said Angie, demonstrating.

“Good.” Peggy cemented the grip and the electricity sparked higher this time, jolting her heart into overdrive; she worried it might melt, might puddle between her lungs.

They grappled through the motions, Angie extricating herself step by step, over and over, and when she seemed to understand, Peggy pulled away… though not without a lingering brush of fingertips on the other woman’s arm.

Bloody fingers with a mind of their own.

She clenched her fist and crossed her arms behind her back; when she looked back at Angie, the waitress offered her a small smile.

“I’m sorry I keep puttin’ off our night out,” she said. “I… my pop’s store’s been havin’ some trouble, so I’ve been helpin’ him out.”

“It’s quite all right,” said Peggy.

“It ain’t, but thanks for sayin’ so. A girl shouldn’t promise somethin’ and go back on it. But I finally got a free night. Tomorrow? It’s been so long since I asked you, I just wanna make sure…”

Angie wrung her hands and Peggy watched her, teeth sinking into her lip. Warmth enveloped her. Not just warmth. She burned. Burned so hot she might to shrivel to a charred husk; the flame licked at her skin, engulfed her heart, gulped oxygen so fast that every time she shared a room with _bloody_ Angie Martinelli, she found herself unable to breathe.

But like her heart and its tempo, like her traitorous fingers, her lips acted on their own.

“I’d love to.”

* * *

Angie was late.

Angie was late, and with every minute that ticked by, Peggy’s scowl cut deeper troughs in her skin.

She fiddled with the ring on her finger: a defense mechanism against leering men. It stuck to her skin; humidity oozed through the bar, mingling with the palpable attention still directed toward her. She started to pull her jacket tighter but groped at nothing; her shoulders lay bare, exposed.

“English!”

A smile glittered on Angie’s face, and Peggy’s treasonous lips curled to match.

The other woman pushed through the crowd toward her, turning heads; her neckline plunged, and Peggy’s stomach plunged with it.

Sliding onto the stool next to her, Angie crossed her arms on the bar and heaved a sigh. “I’m _so_ sorry. I was rushin’ to get out the door, and I fell and I must’a sprained my wrist or somethin’ when I landed.” She raised her arm, revealing a bandaged, puffy wrist.

“Goodness, are you all right?” Peggy laid a hand on Angie’s arm. The other woman gasped, so quiet it could have been a whisper from across the room, a brush of the bartender’s towel on a glass. But she trembled beneath Peggy’s fingers, and when Peggy met her eyes, she jerked away.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I’m fine. Like I said, I was in a hurry.”

“You needn’t have been so eager, said Peggy, chuckling. Angie ordered a drink. “It’s only me.”

“Well, exactly.” Angie leaned an elbow on the bar, head resting on her fist, and grinned at Peggy from beneath her lashes.

That damned, confounding smile. Like a hundred stars plucked from the heavens and scattered across this woman’s face.

Peggy’s flush was involuntary and, probably, as plain as day. “Flatterer.”

She sipped her drink as Angie received hers.

“So, English…”

“Hmm?” Peggy studied her drink, the light twinkling on its surface.

“I didn’t know you were married.”

“What?” Peggy blinked, then followed Angie’s eyes to her left hand. “Oh. No. I’m not. It just keeps certain unwanted attentions away.”

Angie laughed. “I get it.” She raised her own hand, a speck of gold flashing on her finger, and they laughed together. As the laughter died, Angie shook her head. “So, why isn’t a gorgeous gal like you lookin’ for someone? Already got a fella?” She chuckled as she asked, but immediately reached for her drink.

“No,” said Peggy, squeaking. Her throat had constricted at the word ‘gorgeous’. “No, not in a long while. I’m quite single.”

Every bit of Angie swelled: her shoulders uncurled, her eyes glowed, her smile swept across her face. “Oh, really?”

“Really.” Peggy finished the last of her drink. “Ever since… well, it isn’t as though there haven’t been offers, some from very lovely men. But I’ve had my eye on one person in particular.” She met Angie’s gaze, wondered how she reflected in the other woman’s eyes.

“Yeah?” Angie gulped; her chest heaved.

Peggy nodded. “I was actually wondering if you could… assist me, in that regard.”

“Sure,” said Angie, leaning closer. “Anything you want.”

Peggy twisted her ring. “This… person. I suppose it’s unconventional, but I thought perhaps a gift… something to show I’m interested.” She laid her hand on the bar, fingers falling a hairs’ breadth from Angie’s. Angie’s hand twitched.

“Gifts are good,” said the waitress. “What did you have in mind?”

“I thought… ah…” Angie’s finger brushed hers. “Perhaps… violets? As a sign?”

“Violets?”

“Yes.”

Angie took a sharp breath and Peggy’s hand darted out, pressing over Angie’s knuckles, clutching it as tight as she dared. “Please, Angie. I think I’ll go mad if y—if they don’t feel the same.”

Her heart thundered in her chest, threatening to rip her foundations free, like biblical Samson in the temple.

“English,” said Angie, and her voice pierced the hum of the room, clear and alone.

“Yes?”

Angie stood and straightened her dress. “I think I need to fix my makeup. Wanna join?” She tipped her chin toward the back of the room, hand extended.

Peggy took it. “God, yes.”

* * *

Peggy’s back collided with the door of the storage closet. Angie collided with her.

Angie’s hand curved around her neck. The other skimmed her arm. It leapt to her hip. Slipped to the small of her back. They anchored her. Held her. Angie stepped in, tangling their bodies together.

“Jesus, English.” Angie murmured into Peggy’s lips. Peggy smiled. Angie pressed harder. The smile fell, forgotten, in the wake of peppermint, just a hint of it, on her tongue.

Her own hands, where were they? Everywhere. In Angie’s hair, on her neck, her arms… then they were above her, wrists burrowing into the wood as Angie pinned them. Their lips still entwined, Peggy gasped as Angie rolled her hips, slow and sweet, between Peggy’s legs. She caught the moan trickling between Peggy’s teeth.

“Bloody…”

“Shh.”

Angie dropped away, peppering bites on Peggy’s neck. Peggy gripped the doorknob, knuckles blanching as Angie’s fingers reached the hem of her dress.

The dress clung to her legs. Angie lifted it, leaving kisses on each new parcel of exposed skin, and Peggy’s knees shook.

“Angie, please.”

“You sure?” Angie gazed up, eyes wide, bunched fabric pooling over her arms.

Peggy nodded… could only nod. Time stretched, thinned, their breaths quavering in the air like sheets of gauze.

Then Angie’s lips touched her. Time jolted, snapping, like a clutch released too soon. Sound billowed in her throat and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Still it boiled, rising. She bit down. Her other hand still clung to the doorknob, threatening to rip it free.

Did Angie’s fingers paint trails of red and white into her skin? Did she grasp the shelves to stay upright, to stop her falling when Angie brought her to the edge?

She didn’t know.

She didn’t care.

Then, like the carriage of a roller coaster climbing to the peak, she fell. Collapsed. Angie caught her, crawling up, hands bunched in Peggy’s dress, and Peggy toppled, arms wrapped around Angie’s neck, her shoulders.

Their lips met again, and the peppermint was gone, but Peggy drank her in. When their breaths settled, she buried her face in the crook of Angie’s neck.

“Well,” she said, and Angie giggled into her hair.

“Thank God,” said Angie. “You thought you were goin’ crazy… one more damn class and I’d’ve pinned you to the floor.”

“I don’t think you’re quite that advanced, Miss Martinelli,” said Peggy. She pulled back and raised an eyebrow, fixing Angie with a serious stare. “We still haven’t finished working on choke holds.”

“Didn’t see you complainin’ when I had you up against this door here. Actually,” Angie said, grinning, “it was kinda the opposite.”

“I _let_ you hold me there.” Peggy tossed her head, curls bouncing. “Otherwise, you’d never stand a chance.”

“Oh yeah?”

Angie pushed in again, hands falling to Peggy’s hips, and—

“Be right there!” called a man from the other side of the door. “Just gotta grab a mop!”

Eyes growing wide, Angie clapped her hands over her mouth and jerked away. Peggy held a finger to her lips, let her hand trail over Angie’s shoulder, and locked the door.

The handle jiggled, and the man swore. “What the… who fuckin’ locked this?” He groaned. “Fuckin’… who’s got the keys? Bert? Hey, Bert!”

His footsteps thumped away and Peggy unlocked the door, ushering Angie through. They hurried down the hall, giggles rippling from them.

When the man returned, keys in hand, to the open door, he shook his head. “Jeez, not again.”

* * *

They straightened themselves out in the lavatory then headed back to the bar, hovering as close as they dared.

Peggy’s eyes drifted to Angie’s back as they walked in, her hair gleaming in the incandescent light, earrings dangling, hips swaying.

She needed a drink. Maybe two.

No. What a terrible idea. Just one drink and they’d ended up in the _storage closet_ , of all places.

Angie glanced over her shoulder and grinned, no, _leered_ at her.

Storage closets were lovely places.

She hurried to catch up, fingers lifting, drifting to Angie’s elbow for the slightest of touches.

“Angie! Angie Martinelli!”

The woman in question whirled toward the voice and Peggy’s arm snapped to her side.

At one of the tables sat a cluster of young men, cigarettes and glasses of liquor at their lips. Angie froze and glanced at Peggy. Peggy raised an eyebrow.

“Carlo?” asked Angie. “That you?”

He raised his arms in celebration. “Hey, she remembers me! How’re you doin’, kid? How’s your brother?”

Angie stepped closer to the table, resting a hand on the back of one of the chairs. Peggy followed, lips drawing into a line.

“Moved outta the city,” said Angie, “believe it or not. Met some girl from Jersey and followed her out. But hey, Carlo, I thought you were still in Rikers.”

“Got parole, baby. Carlo Fabbri’s a free man. So we’re celebratin’! Come siddown with us, have a drink! Your friend can come too.” He winked at Peggy.

Peggy shook her head. “Actually, Angie and I were just—“

“I’d love to.”

Lips agape, Peggy whirled on Angie. Angie held her gaze, eyes wide, brows sloping in apology, with a grin plastered on her face. “You want to join, Peg?”

“Angie, what are you--”

“These are old pals of mine,” said Angie, shrugging. “I _gotta_ stay.” She paused. A quiver trickled through her, then disappeared. “But you don’t have to.”

Peggy suppressed the frown bubbling beneath her features. Her eyes narrowed. She watched Angie a moment longer, then shook her head and turned toward the group.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said. “But I really must be going. Angie, it was…” Peggy’s eyes danced over Angie’s face. She found the other woman’s grin, its hard edges; found her eyes wreathed in exact, laughing crinkles. “It was truly wonderful.”

“Yeah,” said Angie, but Carlo was already reaching for her wrist, ordering one of his friends to grab an extra seat, urging Angie to order a drink.

The waitress settled in, laughs booming, and Carlo draped an arm over her shoulders. Peggy, beyond their attention, sucked in a breath and balled her fists at her sides.

She lifted each foot like cinderblocks. Like anvils. She ripped the roots of her feet from the earth and turned. The weight dissipated with every step.

Now her lungs bore the weight, submerged in a dark, deep ocean. Her feet flew and her mind crackled like a radio between frequencies. She was outdoors; she was in a cab; she was in her apartment.

She ripped her hair free, scraped make-up from her skin, and hurled her dress to the floor.

On the inside of her thigh: a mark. An imprint of Angie’s lips, emblazoned in red. She touched it, fingers shaking, then recoiled as though burned. Her eyes darted to the handkerchief resting on her nightstand, lipstick smeared across it like a wound.

Shaking, she reached for the handkerchief. It nestled in her hands, baring the mark that had once adorned her cheek.

Her fist clenched. She hurled the scrap of fabric as far as she could, dragged an arm across her face and abraded her tears away, then sank to her bed.

Peggy pulled her pillow close, and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest piece of fanfiction I have ever completed (key word!), and I am so excited to share it with you.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. Please, please, please: comment, let me know what you liked, how it made you feel, parts you hated, bits I could have done better. You can also message me on tumblr (I go by pupswrites). I try to respond to everyone who comments (but if you don't want me to respond, which is a thing that can happen and I've been in that place, just let me know and I will simply read your comment and keep my words to myself).
> 
> Note: The song in this chapter is To Each His Own, published in 1946, as sung by Eddy Howard.


	2. Chapter 2

Peggy stared at the unconscious form of Carlo Fabbri and fought the urge to kick him.

“Hey,” said Sousa, across the room. “You okay?”

Without looking at him, she replied. “I’m fine. It’s late.”

He nodded, eyes scanning the room as the police photographer snapped away. “Yeah, and we’re gonna be up for a while. We’ll get coffee after this, okay?”

Peggy ignored him. Fabbri stirred.

“…hnnuh? What? Who’re…” he blinked. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Carlo?”

“Yeah?” His head rolled toward her. “What do you want?”

Peggy knelt in front of him. “Who did this to you? Carlo? Stay with me.” She gripped his shirt, caught his head before it lolled to his shoulder. “Who did this?”

“Kid,” he said. “Some… kid. Bandana. Covered his face. My boys… they okay?”

“They’re fine,” she said. “Just knocked out, like you. Did he say anything? The kid?”

“Wanted to know…” He winced, working his jaw, already splashed with a bruise. He groaned. “Ugh. Wanted to know where Danielli was.”

“What did you tell him?” He closed his eyes and his head dropped toward his chest. “Hey! Carlo!”

He snapped up, eyes blinking out of sync. “Huh? What?”

“What did you tell your assailant? Where’s Danielli?”

Fabbri tried to lift an arm, but jerked to a halt; a twisted bed sheet bound him. “Lemme go.”

“Where’s Danielli?”

“No idea, lady.” He grit his teeth and grunted. “I get orders at dead drops. No one knows where he is.”

“How can you be sure it’s him?”

“Who else would it be? Tommy walks free and then we start gettin’ orders pullin’ the old gang together? It’s Tommy.”

Peggy narrowed her eyes as Fabbri struggled harder against his bonds, his eyes now alert, his breathing regular. “Can you let me go now?”

“I don’t think so.” She climbed to her feet, hooking him under the arm and heaving him up with her. “Carlo Fabbri, you are under arrest for the unlawful possession of a firearm.”

He argued with her as she read him his rights, as she dragged him to the door and as she ushered him downstairs. Halfway down, and halfway through his tirade, she shoved him against the wall.

“Angie,” she said. “Where is she?”

“Angie? How do you know about Angie?” He blinked. “Hey, you’re the dame that was with her! You’re a cop? Oh, fuck, is Martinelli a snitch? That fucking whore—“

Peggy cuffed him, knuckles sinking into his bruised jaw, and he stumbled. Picture frames rattled as he thudded into the wall. She hauled him up again. “Another word and I will hurt you far worse. Miss Martinelli is not working for the police; our meeting again is an unwelcome coincidence. But I’m concerned for her, so tell me: where is she?”

“Lady, I don’t know. She ditched us before the kid showed up. And after we bought her drinks all night, the frigid…” He shrank against the wall as Peggy’s eyes flared. “Uh, she was probably just tired.”

Her eyes narrowed. “How long after she left did he appear?”

“I dunno, half an hour, maybe? Why, you think he got her, too?”

“What I think is none of your concern, Mr. Fabbri.” Pulling him away from the wall, Peggy started down the stairs again. “Did you or your men injure your attacker? Any bruises or wounds you might have left on him?”

“Actually, yeah. Bruno got him real good in the ribs, right here.” He rubbed his side, just under his arm. “Kid’ll be feelin’ that a while. Asshole.” He spat on the stairs.

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure he will,” she said. Then, to herself, she muttered, “and _he_ will be feeling a lot more than that when I’m through with him.”

* * *

 

Lamplight oozed through the open window. Peggy gathered her hair and tied it away, her back to the door. The stairs whined beneath footfalls soft as a summer breeze.

“Peg?” The doorknob squeaked and Angie tiptoed into the studio. “You here? Forgot to lock the door—”

“You’re late,” said Peggy, turning to face her. “Get changed, and we’ll get started.”

Angie jumped, taking a step back. She let out a heavy, shaking breath. “Oh. Right.” She set her things on the floor and shrugged out of her jacket. “So…”

“The sooner you change, the sooner we can begin perfecting some techniques.” Peggy propped her hands on her hips.

Angie frowned, but unbuttoned her blouse all the same. Her fingers dropped to her skirt, then she paused, glancing up at Peggy, blouse hanging loose around her shoulders.

“What?” Peggy arched an eyebrow.

“Can you turn around?”

A smirk flitted over Peggy’s lips. “Feeling shy, Miss Martinelli?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Angie crossed her arms. “I just think it’s weird, you standin’ there _watchin’_ me. So turn around.”

Peggy sighed and obliged. “I’m not some priggish schoolboy,” she said. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“You ain’t seen it, actually, and… you know what, I don’t gotta explain myself to you.”

Fabric rustled. Peggy clenched her fists.

“There. I’m changed.”

“Good.” Peggy crossed the gap between them. “We’re going to practice choke holds a little more. Turn around.”

Angie obliged, and Peggy rushed her, looping an arm around her throat. Angie yelped. Gripping the other woman’s hip, Peggy leaned forward, lips brushing her ear. “You need to be faster,” she said. Her hand slid from Angie’s hip to her waist, then up, brushing her ribs.

Every muscle in Angie’s body tensed.

Angie spun around, jerking away from Peggy’s loosening grip. Her face contorted with anger. “What the hell are you doin’?”

“Teaching you.”

“ _Teachin’_ me?”

“I got my arm around your throat before you could react. If that were a real situation, you’d—“

“Is this about the other night?” Angie batted a stray lock of hair from her face, but it defied her, dangling between her eyes. “Is that what this is?”

“Of course not.” Peggy crossed her arms. “I wouldn’t be so juvenile.”

A retort boiled in Angie, practically lifting her off the ground, but she gnashed her teeth and choked it back. She took a great, heaving breath and settled. “Look,” she said. “I didn’t come here for lessons today. I came to apologize.”

“You don’t need to.” Peggy’s words crackled like acid.

Angie shook her head. “Yeah, I do. I acted like a complete jackass.” She wrapped her arms around herself, wincing as they folded over her ribs, and refused to loosen them. “I ditched you.”

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” said Peggy, through gritted teeth.

“Don’t make my excuses for me!” Angie’s face melted, brows sloping, anguish seeping into every line. “I left you and I let you think that it didn’t matter to me. What we did.”

Peggy snorted. “Don’t act as though _feelings_ were involved—“

“They _were_ involved! Dammit, English, I want more’n just a few minutes in a storage closet!”

A car raced down the street below, its wheels skimming the asphalt. A door slammed. A streetlight flickered.

“All right.”

Angie blinked. “What?”

“You want more? Fine. Let it not be said that Peggy Carter isn’t fair.” Peggy stepped forward, seized Angie’s shirt, and reeled her in.

“Peg—mmph!”

Gripping Angie’s hips, Peggy drew their bodies together, walking them toward the wall. As Angie’s shoulders met plaster, Peggy’s hand slipped beneath her shirt.

Their breaths mingled. Angie tore away, though her body arched at Peggy’s touch. She gasped as Peggy’s lips found her neck. “What are you doin’?”

Peggy murmured into Angie’s skin. Her hands cruised to Angie’s back, finding the clasp of her bra. “Making it even.”

“Makin’ it… what? No!” Angie pushed her away, and Peggy stumbled back.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Her fingers burned. Her muscles ached, stretched taut as cabling, and they frayed as Angie trembled in front of her.

“No! This is definitely _not_ what I meant.” She cupped her neck, as though to hide the invisible evidence of Peggy’s kisses. “I don’t want you to… to…” Angie blushed to the tips of her ears, and her words hissed forth like steam from a kettle. “I don’t want you to _fuck_ me like it’s some transaction. I want it to mean somethin’.”

“You didn’t seem so concerned about that the other night.” Peggy fought the tension rippling beneath her skin to brush the wrinkles from her shirt.

“The other night, I thought it meant somethin’.” Angie’s shoulders slumped. “I mean, it did to me. I thought it did to you, too.”

Angie curled in on herself, shriveling like a scrap of paper tossed into a flame. Peggy crossed her arms. Her fingers dug into her skin, hammers against a mass of straining piano strings. She carved her expression from stone. “It was nice.” Peggy paused; she shook her head. “No, that’s unfair. It was amazing, Angie, truly…“ Her throat cracked. “…but it wasn’t… it wasn’t anything… _more_.”

Brushing her hair from her face, Angie sighed. “Okay. All right. I read it all wrong, I guess. That’s my fault.” She shook her head, backed away from Peggy. “Sorry for gettin’ all dramatic on you. I’m just gonna… go.” She gathered her work uniform, then glanced down at herself and sighed. “I guess I oughta change. D’you… d’you mind?”

Every bit of her screeching and strained, Peggy shrugged. She turned on her heel and marched to the window, throwing up the sash and leaning toward the gloom. When Angie’s voice trembled toward her, wishing her a good night, she did not move. When Angie’s feet clattered down the steps, her nails burrowed into the windowsill.

When Angie paused on the sidewalk outside and looked up, Peggy let the window fall and stumbled away. The tension broke, each snapping string licking into her heart and dragging another tear from her eye.

After a few moments, when her body hung ragged and shredded from her bones, she returned to the window. Angie had started down the sidewalk. Peggy pulled a tiny flashlight from her pocket and aimed its beam toward a car just down the street. A man exited it, tipped his hat toward her, and scurried across the road, falling into step behind the waitress.

* * *

 

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Jarvis,” said Peggy, leaning against the passenger side window of Howard Stark’s car. In the driver seat, sitting ramrod straight, Edwin Jarvis shook his head.

“It’s no trouble at all, Detective Carter,” he said. “Mr. Stark explained the situation as best he could, and I’m happy to be of service.”

“He did explain to you that what we’re doing could be considered somewhat… extralegal?”

“He told me that you are a sworn officer of the law and that your investigation was completely warranted but hindered by your colleagues’ opinions on your sex. I am not a rule-breaker by nature, Detective, but exceptions must be made for such absurdity.”

Peggy smiled. “Well, I appreciate your willingness to make an exception.” She sighed. “I would have asked Daniel, but I don’t want to drag him into it. Not that I’m enthused about dragging you into it, of course. But you’re a civilian and have plausible deniability regarding my rogue actions. Daniel does not.”

“That’s very noble of you, Detective,” said Jarvis. He paused. “That person is dressed rather strangely, wouldn’t you say? And she does resemble your Miss Martinelli.”

Following his eyes, Peggy sighed. “What on earth is she wearing?”

Angie—or someone who could be Angie—had stepped out of her apartment, clad in a large jacket and loose cap. Peggy wiped sweat from her forehead, her body warming in sympathy for the woman in the stifling getup. The person turned, eyes scanning the street, and Peggy pursed her lips; even wearing a bandana, it could only be Angie.

“Follow her,” said Peggy, and Jarvis obliged.

They wound their way through the neighborhood. Jarvis cut the engine when Angie ducked down an alleyway. Peggy slipped out of the car and hurried after her, leaving Jarvis with instructions to flee if she did not return.

Pressing herself against the façade of the building overlooking the alley, Peggy peered into the space. Angie had vanished. The alley ended in a tall fence. Could Angie have scaled it that quickly?

She could, it turned out… though she hadn’t. Something creaked above Peggy’s head and she glanced up; a shadowed figure crouched several floors up on the fire escape, setting her jacket on the railing and pulling her cap low over her eyes.

Then Angie flung open the sash and darted through the window.

Peggy waited, eyes fixed on the window. Shadows swirled with streetlight like oil in water. Something clattered and an animal—A rat? A raccoon?—scurried away. Peggy clamped a hand over her nose as a warm breeze, heavy with the odors of refuse, wafted over her.

In a window above her, someone flicked on a lamp. The next street over, a child wailed.

And in the room where Angie had disappeared, the window shattered.

Shoulders collided with glass; Peggy just glimpsed a shining, bald pate before the man jerked up and away again like a puppet yanked by its strings. Voices hammered through the cracked pane. _Get him! Hit him!_

Then: sputtering words, broken, higher-pitched, and a grunt, a crack, and the clattering of the fire escape as Peggy raced up the stairs.

She rolled through the window, weapon and voice raised, tearing into the room. The men—four of them, armed, pipes and clubs clutched in their fists—whirled on her. One charged; her sidearm juddered, kicked, and he pawed at his chest as he slumped to the floor.

The next one followed, peeling out from behind him, fingers in a spiraled fist. He hammered her jaw; she stumbled back. She fired again. He spun, palm clapped over the hole where his ear had been. Another crack—another man on the ground.

Then the gun ripped away, something connected with her arm—no snap, thank god—just pain exploding through her joints. She lashed out, heel of her palm crunching a nose up, up into a skull. Brown eyes flashed before her and then he was gone, too.

A cacophony of voices pelted her, feet thundered on the floorboards, a man grunted as he grabbed her, lifted her, splitting her shoes from the ground. One slipped off and clattered on the wood and she kicked at him with her stocking foot and tore at his arms and felt flesh peel beneath her nails

He grunted again, stumbling, a mass of howling Italian clinging to his back. His arms loosened, loosened… he dropped her. She thudded to the floor. Her fingers scrabbled for her gun, skittering against it. She snatched it.

His kneecap exploded. He buckled. The person on his back rolled off, shoulder smacking the ground. Peggy winced, threaded a bullet through the last man’s throat.

She stepped over Angie to the window, fingers shaking as they closed around her tiny flashlight. She signaled Jarvis. Her breath caught. The car door flew open, and Jarvis dashed toward the building.

Peggy collapsed at Angie’s side. She checked Angie’s pulse, tore the bandana away, buried her fingers in Angie’s sweat-soaked shirt.

“Angie! Angie, darling, look at me!”

Angie rolled over, curling into Peggy’s arms; her face nuzzled into Peggy’s jacket. “English?”

“You’re going to be all right,” said Peggy. “My friend is going to get you to safety.”

“’Kay,” said Angie. She gripped Peggy’s hand. “Pegs.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t feel too good.”

The fire escape rattled.

“Yes, well,” said Peggy, shaking her head and pushing hair from Angie’s eyes. “That’s what happens when you assault four armed gang members.”

“I guess so.” Angie’s voice pillowed against Peggy’s clothes. “You’re doin’ okay, though.”

“I’m a highly-trained military professional,” said Peggy. “You still haven’t finished learning how to escape chokeholds.”

“Well, at least I can make a soufflé,” said Angie. She tried to sit up and winced. Outside, the fire escape jangled, and Jarvis yelped.

“Here.” Peggy looped her arms around Angie and pulled her up. A police siren screeched in the distance. “You’ll be all right.”

“Said that already,” said Angie. She leaned against Peggy, and Jarvis threw the window open.

Peggy handed Angie through, but did not follow.

“Detective Carter?” Jarvis paused, Angie clinging to him, though growing steadier on her feet. “Aren’t you following?”

“No. But you must go. The police will be here soon.”

As if to emphasize her point, the squeal of a siren warbled closer and louder. Jarvis nodded. “You know where to find me,” he said, as he helped Angie down.

“Be safe,” she whispered. She let the window fall.

Her arms hung from her shoulders like anchors. Her head wobbled like a top. She walked along the walls, dragging her fingers, until she found a spot she liked. She pressed her shoulders to the wall and slid to the ground. The peeling wallpaper fluttered beneath her fingers.

She set her gun in her lap, let her hands fall by her sides, and waited.

* * *

 

Peggy knocked on the door of the safe-house and slumped against the doorframe. She leaned her forehead against the wood; its grain scratched her skin. She breathed. She studied the shadows on the porch, simmering where they grazed orange lamplight.

The door opened, and she jumped away.

“Jarvis,” she said. “How is she?”

“I believe she’s fine.” He ushered her inside, locking the door behind her. “But she fell asleep almost as soon as I set her on the couch.”

They tiptoed into the living room; Jarvis switched on a lamp. An island of stale light flickered into existence: its plains a threadbare carpet, its mountains a rickety ottoman, its cliffs a cramped, ancient couch.

Angie lay on the couch, back to the doorway, blanket draped over her body. Her shoulders rose and fell; she shifted, rolling over, and Peggy stiffened as Angie’s bruised face came into view.

She turned to Jarvis. “Can you spare us a moment alone?”

“Certainly,” he said. “Call for me if you require anything.”

Then he was gone, and Peggy stood alone.

Padding toward the couch, she settled beside it, tucking her heels beneath her. One arm resting alongside Angie’s, she lifted the other and traced Angie’s jaw.

The other woman stirred, rubbing her eyes. Peggy bit her lip; their faces rested just inches apart.

“Angie,” whispered Peggy. “Wake up.”

Angie yawned, burrowing deeper into the cushion before sucking in a deep breath and letting her eyes creak open. “God,” she said. “I feel like I got run over.”

“You may as well have been,” said Peggy. She pulled her hand away from Angie’s face; cold needled her fingers, and she balled them in her lap. “You’re lucky you weren’t hurt worse.”

“I don’t think luck had anythin’ to do with it.” Angie squinted. “How long you been followin’ me?”

“Only since the other night at the studio.”

“Oh. _That_ night.” Angie groaned. “On top of feelin’ like I got slammed by a truck, now you gotta remind me about _that_. English, you really oughta just kill me now. I think goin’ on livin’ might be too much for me.”

“Angie…”

“I’m such an idiot.” She muttered something in Italian. “Was the sex part of your snoopin’, or just a nice little benefit?”

“No!” said Peggy. “I swear, when we… I didn’t know. I would never do that.”

“Sure.” Angie harrumphed. “Well, you caught me.” She dragged herself into a sitting position and held out her hands, palms up. “Clap me in irons, officer. Take me away.”

The corners of Peggy’s mouth pulled into a frown. “I’m not arresting you,” she said. She rose, settling onto the end of the couch opposite Angie.

“No? Well…” Angie’s brows furrowed. “What are you doin’, then?”

“Keeping you safe.”

“I don’t need you to—“

“Yes, you do. Clearly.” Peggy scoffed. “You said it yourself, luck had nothing to do with your survival tonight. Angie, those men would have killed you.”

“Well, thanks,” said Angie. “But I know better now. That was a trap, plain ‘n’ simple, and I’ll be damned if I get caught like that again.”

“For some reason, I believe you.” Peggy sighed. “But that won’t protect you from my colleagues.”

Angie leaned back against the armrest. “So what’re you sayin’? You’re gonna run interference for me? Keep the law off my back?”

“Yes,” said Peggy. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Angie chewed her lip. “English?” she said, after a pause.

“Yes?”

“What happened after me and Mr. Fancy left? I remember… well, I _think_ I remember a siren. Did you get outta there before the cops showed?”

“No,” said Peggy. “I stayed.”

“But…”

“It had to be done,” said Peggy. “You and Jarvis needed time to escape. I kept them distracted. And if I had returned to work in the morning looking like this, they would have wondered anyway.”

“So… what happened?”

Peggy sighed. “I am confined to my desk.” She lifted her jacket; her shirt billowed where her holster had been. “That’s about the best I could have hoped for.”

Angie leaned forward, pressing her hand over Peggy’s. “I’m sorry, that’s a bum deal.”

Peggy shrugged. “As I said, it’s the best of a slew of terrible outcomes. I could have been suspended or fired. But they believe me stupid, rather than insubordinate, and in any case I think they were impressed I kept the two of us alive. Speaking of you, they are furious that I let you escape.”

A smile danced on Peggy’s face, but Angie frowned. “Why, though? Why’re you doin’ this for me?”

“Because…” Peggy glanced down, where Angie’s hand still covered hers. She shook her head, pressed a hand to her mouth, and waited for the shivers to end. She looked up. “If I tell you,” she said, “this conversation will be over. I don’t want this conversation to be over. So, if you don’t mind, can we leave that question for the end?”

Angie’s fingers tightened. “Sure,” she said. She pulled her legs up, rested her chin on her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “So, conversation’s not over… got a feelin’ you got some questions of your own.”

“Just one, really.”

“Yeah, I think I know which one, too. All right, ask your question.”

Peggy filled her lungs, held her breath, and let the air bleed from her. “Why?”

Angie sighed, shifting, tucking her face behind her knees. She studied the couch just beyond her toes.

Peggy waited.

“My brother,” said Angie, at last.

“The one who went to New Jersey?”

“Yeah, except… that ain’t where he went. My brother… he never ran with Danielli, not officially anyway. But you grow up where we did, you get to know everybody, and that means you know the kids who go bad, too. You remember Carlo?”

“I arrested Carlo.”

Angie chuckled. “Good, he deserved it. But, yeah, Carlo. He and Mikey—that’s my brother—used to know each other real good. But Mikey always stayed on the straight-and-narrow, like our mama raised us. Then Carlo got thrown in the slammer and Danielli’s boys came ‘round lookin’ for some new blood and Mike told ‘em to buzz off. Wasn’t nice about it, either.”

She squeezed her arms tighter, knuckles burning white. “Guess they weren’t too happy about that… or they told Tommy and _he_ weren’t too happy about that. ‘Cause someone found Mikey on his face in an alley a few days later with a couple of holes in his back.”

As Angie spoke, Peggy’s hands curled about her knees, bunching the fabric against her legs. Color drained from her cheeks. “Oh, Angie…”

“I thought,” said Angie, shaking her head, “I thought when Tommy got put away, that was the end of it. Maybe we could start doin’ some good, you know? But then I heard the whisperin’ that he was back, and somethin’ in me just… snapped. I found your name in the paper and I figured, well, that’s a good way to fight better, right? And a good cover, too. ‘How’d ya get them bruises, Martinelli?’ ‘I’m learnin’ self-defense, Bob, but I got two left feet and my instructor’s a real hardass!’” She chuckled. “I gotta confess, English, I don’t need to learn any more about chokeholds. I’ve been doin’ some extracurricular studyin’.”

“I did wonder,” said Peggy. “My classes certainly couldn’t have prepared you to embarrass Danielli’s men the way you have.”

“Most of it’s just catchin’ ‘em by surprise, if I’m bein’ honest. And they’re pretty thick. But get enough of ‘em together and ready for me and I’m up a creek without a paddle.” Angie probed the bruise around her eye.

Then she relaxed, legs slipping down, arms puddling in her lap. She leaned back and watched Peggy, lips etching a line. “That’s it, really. You gonna answer my question now? Why’re you puttin’ your job on the line for me?”

Peggy drew a breath, lungs caught in a vice. She left the couch and floated behind it, striking out into a sea of shadow. The curtains barricaded them in, but she stood by the window just the same.

“During the war,” she said, and looked down at her shoes. “During the war, I met someone. I… I cared about him. Very deeply. I might even have loved him.”

She paced the room, stopping beside a tall cabinet. She turned, ran her fingers against the grain. “I lost him. No… I didn’t lose him. He’s not a child’s misplaced toy waiting to be found. He died. He died, and because of him, millions of people lived.”

Her head bobbed between her shoulders. “I respected what he did. I _understood_ what he did. And I… I understand what you’re doing, too. And I know you won’t be dissuaded from it.”

“I won’t,” said Angie. She leaned over the back of the couch, chin resting on her folded arms. “So, this fella… you sayin’ you see some of him in me?”

“A little. You are brave and sweet. He would blush if he heard the way you speak sometimes, but your heart, like his, could hold twenty of mine.”

Peggy looked into the glass panes of the cabinet; even with the lamp behind them, hiding their faces in shadow, she saw the edges of Angie’s grin. “I am protecting you because I want to keep you safe, as I failed to do for him. I am protecting you because I care about you. Deeply.”

Angie rose to her knees. Her hands gripped the crest of the sofa. “You might even love me?”

Peggy turned; light raced past Angie and splashed across her features. She took a halting, sputtering breath. Jacket swirling, she crossed the distance between them in two strides.

“Darling,” she said, and her words crashed against Angie’s lips, “I have been falling for you since you asked my name.”

Angie’s hands rose, over her shoulders, and clung to her. They tangled in her hair, fixing them together, and Peggy stepped closer. Her knees knocked the couch. She gasped and Angie leaned in, pressed as far back against the couch as its frame allowed. One of Peggy’s hands nestled in the small of Angie’s back; the other gripped the couch and held them steady.

Then Angie’s hand slid from Peggy’s neck. To her throat. To her collarbone. A shiver shot through Peggy like the crack of a whip and jerked her from their embrace.

She stared. Her own breaths buffeted her, quick and sharp.

“I can’t,” she said.

Angie just watched her: eyes wide, lips parted, chest heaving.

“I can’t,” said Peggy again, pressing a hand to her mouth. She shook her head. Her hand fell.

“Don’t run on me,” said Angie, reaching for the other woman. “God, English, don’t do it.”

“I have to,” said Peggy. “I… I can’t have you torn away from me. I can’t go through that again.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Peggy scowled. “You can’t know that! If the world could rip Steve from me, it won’t hesitate to take you, too.” Her face fell. “Please, darling, you must understand. I cannot have you and then hope to survive when you are gone.”

“So… what? You’re just gonna walk away? What about what I feel? You can’t just say things like that to a gal and then leave!”

“I’m so sorry,” said Peggy. “I shouldn’t have… I tried… I have to go.”

She swept past the couch, through the light, to the doorway.

“Peggy.” Angie’s voice pattered against Peggy’s back like the first drops of rain. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m sorry,” said Peggy.

She made it to the front door where Jarvis waited, pale and stammering.

“Miss Carter! You’re leaving?”

“I have to go, Jarvis,” she said. “Please see that she makes it home safely. And… introduce her to Howard, would you?”

“I… of course, Detective, but…”

“I’ll speak to him, Jarvis. He’ll know what to do. Just keep her from killing him, if you’re able.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said.

The door opened to cricket songs and rustling breezes. Peggy paused on the threshold. She turned; the floor creaked. Behind her, Angie’s sobs mingled with a ticking clock.

Her blood pounded in her ears. The door clicked shut. Her heels tapped the sidewalk. Her car’s engine sputtered to life.

Wheels hissed on sticky asphalt. The radio warbled.

In a cacophony of crickets and breezes, in an orchestra of creaking floors and ticking clocks, with an audience of a stammering English butler, the sound of Angie crying was the most deafening sound of all.

* * *

 

“What do you think?” Howard hovered behind Peggy. “Outdid myself, didn’t I?”

Peggy stepped toward the table. “Yes,” she said. “I daresay you did.”

A uniform lay on the table. A suit of armor. Though plainer in color and sleeker in silhouette, it echoed Steve’s: the plates beneath the fabric, the rugged seams. She ran a hand over it, nodding at the way it scraped her skin and puckered at her touch.

“I tried to talk her into bulletproof, but she wanted something she could wear under her everyday clothes.” He shrugged. “Didn’t want it to be too bulky. It should still turn knives away and negate the worst of any blunt impact.”

“And it looks like it’ll disguise her figure better than whatever she was using before,” said Peggy.

“Elastic bandages, if you can believe it,” he said, grimacing. “This’ll do it with less fuss and more, well, breathing. And it goes from ‘guy mode’ to ‘gal mode’ with a few snaps. It was her idea, before you accuse me of indecency or somethin’.”

Peggy nodded, then stepped away from the table. “Thank you for showing me, Howard.”

He shrugged. “It was your plan. I just wanted to make sure it met your expectations.”

“It does, thank you.”

Some gadget in his laboratory whirred. Peggy studied the uniform. Howard rocked on his heels. “Real firecracker, that one,” he said at last.

She eyed him over her shoulder. “Oh, my dear Howard, did you attempt to woo her?”

“I didn’t even get a chance to try. She saw me _thinking_ about it and stopped me dead in my tracks. I, uh, got the impression she wants someone else.”

He stopped rocking and fixed his gaze on her. She felt her cheeks grow warm and inspected the suit with as much intensity as she could muster. He groaned.

“Oh, come on, Peggy. That kid’s head over heels for you and here you are breaking her heart.”

“And what of my heart?” She whirled on him. “I loved someone who wore one of your uniforms before, if you recall. I barely managed to put my heart back together that time. I won’t survive if it happens again.”

“Since when do you care about your own survival? You put your life at risk every day during the war. You stick your neck out for people. That’s what makes you who you are.”

“This is different,” she said.

“It isn’t different at all!”

“Howard,” she said through her teeth. “I would advise you to leave this subject well enough alone.”

“But—“

“ _Howard_.”

He held her gaze, brows furrowed. Her lips pursed. He threw up his hands. “Fine. Have it your way. I’ll walk you out.”

* * *

 

The Kid—now a title, once the papers had gotten wind of him—continued his quest on the streets of Little Italy, and the police remained hot on his heels. He appeared at night, in alleys and apartments, interrupting crimes in progress and harassing Danielli’s men.

For all that, Danielli remained hidden. They found dead drops, shadowy payphones, messages passed in obtuse code. The Kid left notes at times, hints toward his own investigation. He worked from the bottom, and the police worked from the top, and sometimes, when they met in the middle, they caught a criminal in their vice and squeezed him for every bit of information they knew.

But they could not find Danielli.

* * *

 

Peggy studied the map and frowned.

“Carter? I can’t believe you’re still here.” Sousa made his way toward Peggy’s desk.

Her eyes remained fixed on the map. “Daniel, you brought two cups of coffee.”

He looked down at the steaming cups in question. “Maybe I really like coffee.”

She turned, raised an eyebrow, and reached for the second cup.

“Fine.” He handed it over with a sigh. “I guess I just want to pretend this isn’t a habit for you. You really should be home asleep.”

“There’s something here,” she said. “Some hint to Danielli’s location.”

“We’ve been staring at this map for weeks,” said Sousa, pulling up a chair. “If there was something there, we’d have found it.”

She sipped her coffee. “You’re probably right. Still, I can’t shake this feeling… there’s a pattern crying out to be found.”

“We’ll get him,” he said. “He can’t keep on doing this forever. But staring at a map and not getting any sleep isn’t helping anyone. Go home. Let your brain rest. Spend a little time with people you care about.”

Peggy sighed. She pulled her handkerchief—still marked with Angie’s lipstick—from her pocket and fiddled with it in her lap. “I don’t have anyone like that.”

“What about that English guy? Jarvis?”

But Sousa’s words splintered against her like a glass dropped on the floor. She unfolded the scrap of fabric, stared at the red marks.

Then up: at the blue pins scattered across the map.

She rifled through her drawers—blue pins, blue pins—and turned to him. “Do you have any red pins?”

“I… yeah, I think so.” He turned around, reached over his desk and shuffled through a drawer. “Here.”

She snatched them, then attacked the map, peering at each blue mark and replacing a handful of them with red. When she finished, she stepped back and nodded.

“Look at that,” she said.

Sousa blinked. “What are those?”

What had been a sea of blue was now parted by a red ring, one or two pins thick, in one quadrant of the map.

“Those,” she said, “are payphones. All of the payphones, in fact, to which we have tracked Danielli’s orders.”

“It’s a perfect circle. They must be linked in the center somewhere. But it’s just an apartment building,” he said. “We’ve checked that place out before, we’d know if…”

“Underground,” said Peggy. “It must be.”

“My god. What if he’s there? I’m calling the chief,” he said, and spun to his desk again, snatching the phone and dialing as fast as his fingers could manage.

Peggy stared at the map, the seed of a smile on her lips. Her fingers closed around the handkerchief. The smile bloomed.

* * *

 

She had hardly a moment to herself after that—they called everyone in, and the hours flashed by in a whirl of planning. They set the time for the operation: that very night.

In a stolen moment on the steps of the station, Peggy dashed off a note and entrusted it to Jarvis.

_Possibly found him. Address below. Tonight, 7pm._

_-English_

* * *

 

Peggy’s shoes squelched as she and Sousa inched down the long, dark hallway.

“So much for surprise,” muttered Sousa. Grime sucked at his heels and he ripped his foot free. Peggy flashed her light at him and matched his grimace.

“I am nearly certain that if Danielli is here, he knew we were coming before we set foot in this tunnel,” she said. Her light skittered over him, glinting on the wall behind him. Moisture crept down the bricks, pooling beneath their feet. “We weren’t exactly subtle.”

“I told Thompson we should have dome some incognito snooping,” said Sousa. “Maybe try to contact the Kid; he’s been tipping us off for a while so he might have been interested.”

Peggy began walking again. The squelching echoed in the space, the remnants of an old tunnel running beneath the sewer and now a receptacle for sludge squeezed from leaky pipes. “Perhaps. I won’t be surprised if he turns up, however.”

Something rattled overhead. They both aimed their lights at the high, arched ceiling, but saw only slimy stone.

“Rat in the sewer pipe?” asked Sousa.

“Most likely,” said Peggy. She crinkled her nose. “Stay alert, though.”

“You got it.”

The tunnel bored under the city, straight and true. As they walked, signs of life appeared: crates, wrapped in tarpaulin to protect against the muck. Sousa flicked open a knife and cut through the tarp. The crates held fast against their attempts to open them, but the markings on the boxes confirmed their suspicions: the mob was arming itself.

The sewer clanged again. Peggy swore, and they moved on.

A dead end met them: more greasy stone.

“Damn it.” Sousa paced along the foot of the wall, his light bouncing from floor to ceiling. “Nothing. We’re gonna have to go back.”

Peggy’s light traced the seams of the wall where it met the curved surface of the tunnel. “Does it look odd to you?”

“What, the wall?”

“It looks very new.”

He stepped back, studying its edges, its face. “The mortar’s fairly fresh. Someone built this thing recently.” He scratched his head. “We’re still not getting through.”

Peggy scowled. She pulled a glove from her pocket and tugged it on.

Sousa raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna touch it?”

She stepped toward the wall, laid her hand on its surface. She shivered as moisture clung to her glove. “There are weapons out here,” she said. “They wouldn’t leave those with no way to access them.”

“They probably get to them the same way we came in.”

“The door we broke through was too narrow. Those crates would never have fit. There must be an answer here, I—“

She paused. Her fingers pressed against the wall, probing its surface. They traced a seam, running vertically. She let them scamper away, found another, parallel seam a few feet away.

“A door?” said Sousa, as Peggy began rapping her knuckles against the bricks. She ignored him, ear turned toward the stone. One of the bricks grunted, grating against the mortar. She hooked her nails around its edges and pulled it free.

A lever sat in the cavity. She pulled it, and the door groaned open. Sousa’s gun snapped up, ready: the opening swelled and Peggy pressed her back to the wall, eyeing the space.

Nothing burst through. Only darkness greeted them.

“Nice thinking,” said Sousa. He began to holster his weapon, then stopped, holding it aloft. She smirked and raised her own.

“I’m quite clever.”

Another switch—out in the open this time—waited on the other side of the door. Peggy replaced the brick and they let the door lock behind them.

“This is…” Sousa shined his light on the wall where the door had been, squinting to make out the seams.

“Incredible,” said Peggy. “How does a common gangster obtain technology like this?”

“He’s workin’ with someone,” said Sousa.

Peggy nodded. “The question is who… and why.” She bit her lip, shook her head, and sighed. “We aren’t going to find the answer here. Onward?”

He nodded and waved his flashlight, gesturing for her to lead.

The sewer still clinked overhead. Liquid seeped through the ceiling and dripped on the floor. Their shoes squished through the muck.

The tunnel brightened ahead of them. Peggy signaled to Sousa and both switched off their flashlights, though they kept their weapons raised.

Slowing their steps to suppress the slurping of their shoes in the slime, they sneaked toward the source of the light. It intensified as the moments ticked by. The tunnel filled with more crates, stacked several boxes high, and they huddled behind them. When they crept into the light to move toward the next hiding spot, their shadows stretched like streaks of ink across the floor.

A giant pile of crates clogged the exit of the tunnel. Peggy ducked behind it and inched toward the edge.

The tunnel opened into a rotunda. It sat like the hub of a spoked wheel, identical tunnels carved around its walls. Circular grates hung on the wall above each tunnel, rusted and red, and grime dripped between their bars to splash to the chamber floor.

In the center of the space sat a desk: a ring, crafted of sheets of riveted steel, its surface splattered with blinking lights and switches.

His back to them, dappled in the flickering lights, sat Tommaso Danielli.

The rest of the room was filled with crates, piled high against the walls and low in the center of the floor, like snowdrifts against the side of a building. Peggy nodded to Sousa and they started toward the nearest pile.

“I know you’re there,” said Danielli. “I been watchin’ you since the minute you kicked down my door.” His voice echoed in the space, slow and thick as molasses.

He spun in his seat to face the pile of crates.

“Tommaso Danielli,” said Peggy, still crouched. “This is the NYPD. You are under arrest for—“

“You ain’t arrestin’ me.” He laughed and pulled a gun from beneath his jacket. “Either you walk outta here alive, or I do. Ain’t gonna be both of us.”

Peggy cursed beneath her breath, waved Sousa toward the opposite edge of the pile. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” she said. “We can avoid bloodshed if you turn yourself in.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair. “I been to your prison, lady, and it ain’t livin’.”

Something scraped in the sewer overhead; Peggy’s eyes darted toward the grate, but the narrow tube lay empty.

“Come on,” said the mobster. “Nothin’ else to say? No more convincin’ me to come quietly? You gonna shoot me now?”

Peggy leaned back against the crates. She turned toward Sousa. He pressed his eyes shut and crossed himself.

And just behind him, in the tunnel next to theirs, she saw a flash.

Her hand snapped up, her finger yanked the trigger. The gun leaped in her hands. In the tunnel, someone groaned. A body fell, splashing to the stone. She whipped to the other side, peered over the crates. More men, hiding in tunnels, behind crates. Armed, all of them. Danielli smirked before she ducked again and the corner of the crate exploded in splinters.

She popped over the edge. Fired. Ducked. Fired again. Someone cried out. Sousa’s weapon cracked in answer. Another down. Another. She checked the room, threw herself behind the next pile of crates. A bullet pierced the pallet, and she threw her arms over her face against the sprayed shards of wood.

Something clanged. She looked up; a grate had gone missing, flung out from the wall. Beneath it she saw a flash of white, a figure in a cap. Angie’s arms snaked around a gangster’s neck, tipping him back and plowing him to the ground.

“The Kid!” shouted Sousa, across the chamber. “He’s here!”

Something pounded in her veins, something hot and sharp. A man advanced on Angie. Peggy fired over the crate toward him. A bullet whizzed past her ear as she ducked down again. It pinged on the wall, clattered to the ground. Peggy hurried to another spot. Snapped up. Fired again. Across the chamber, fist met flesh, a man grunted.

Sousa strafed in the opposite direction, toward Angie. Peggy flattened herself against the crates and watched him, watched their enemies—how many _were_ there?—waited to give him covering fire as he claimed better position.

Her shoulder exploded.

She screamed and crumpled, her knees buckling before she could think to steady herself. Someone cried her name. She cursed, a steady stream of words that would have made Steve turn redder than the setting sun. She hauled herself to a sitting position, probed the wound with the hand that still held her gun.

“Damn it.” She leaned, peered around the crate.

Danielli huddled in the pen of his desk, weapon clutched in his fingers. His men inched toward her position and toward another. Sousa’s? Peggy curled her arm across her body, twisted her hand toward the chamber, and fired blind. Her gun clicked, hungry.

She fished for a reload, glanced over the crates again. A man crept around the crates, quickly approaching Sousa’s position. She waited for the man to duck. To hide from Sousa’s gun.

Sousa didn’t see him.

He was almost there.

“Daniel!”

“I got him!”

Angie’s voice rang clear as a bell behind her. Peggy gaped as Angie sprinted past her. She vaulted over the crates, arms wide, and careened into the man, one hand driving his skull into the stone.

Sousa turned, jaw dropped in surprise.

Angie rose from the man’s body, eyes seeking shelter.

Danielli fired.

Peggy screamed.

Angie fell.

Peggy’s arm lanced toward Danielli. The gun kicked. He toppled back. Hit the console. Lights shimmered in his oiled hair.

Her shoulder throbbed.

“Angie,” she mumbled. The gun slipped from her fingers. She pressed a hand to the wound, fell to her hands and knees. Stone chilled her skin as she crawled. “Angie.” Her head wobbled. Sousa crouched in the distance, indistinct as an impressionist’s painting. Her shoulder screeched. Her vision wavered.

* * *

 

The world lurched. Her eyelids flickered open, and light assaulted her. As she jammed her eyelids shut, someone spoke. “She’s waking up.”

Warmth enveloped her hand. “Carter?”

She couldn’t answer. Her shoulder ached.

“It’s okay,” said the voice. “We’re going to the hospital.”

The light drilled into her skull again, white and clinical. The world rocked. An ambulance. “Sousa?”

“Don’t sit up.” There was pressure on her collarbone: his hand? Her shoulder roared as she nestled into the stretcher.

She groaned. “What happened?”

Sousa, curled inside the ambulance like laundry shoved in a washing machine, shook his head. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”

“Daniel,” said Peggy, frowning. She worked her jaw, sloughing rust from the joint. “What happened?”

With a sigh, he leaned back. “After you shot Danielli, there were only a few left. I kept them off me for a bit… eventually Thompson and the others found their way in. We arrested two. The guys’re still there. Looks like Danielli was definitely working with someone else. The tech he had, Peg…” His eyes widened and he held his hands in front of him as if he could contain the enormity of the discovery. “It was out of this world. No wonder we couldn’t find him.”

Her brows creased. The secrecy, the weapons, the technology… he couldn’t have come by it on his own. But something else itched at her memory. Someone else…

“I assume you learned the identity of the Kid,” she asked, already bracing herself for the oncoming storm.

But instead of the nod she expected, his shoulders slumped. “He got away.”

She blinked. “Impossible. Danielli shot him.”

Sousa shrugged. “We looked, Carter. No sign of him.”

Her lungs swelled, snapping the iron bands about them. Her breath trickled over her lips, shaking like the last autumn leaf before it fell. “Thank god.”

She caught his raised eyebrow, but he said nothing. At that, she smiled and squeezed his hand.

As he returned the gesture, he sucked in a deep breath, then let it drain from him. “It’s over,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “for now.”

* * *

 

Peggy appeared at Howard’s home and Jarvis, already primed by a telephone call, greeted her and let her inside.

“He’s in his workshop,” said Jarvis. “Shall I fetch him?”

Peggy rolled her shoulders, relishing in the resultant crackling. “No need,” she said. “I’ll see to him.”

Stepping into Howard’s laboratory was like opening a door only to find Antarctica on the other side. She shivered and stepped through the opening and let the door slam shut behind her.

“Jarvis!” shouted Howard from the bowels of the room. “I told you, late lunch today!”

“Hello, Howard,” said Peggy, and her heels clicked on the chilled metal floor like coins dropped to the sidewalk.

Through a jungle of tangled wires and metal, she saw him whirl, eyes wide. “P-peg?”

“You told me it wasn’t bulletproof,” she said. She rounded one workbench to find him pressed with his back against another. He leaned against it, legs stretched in front of him, knuckles white at its edge.

“It wasn’t,” he said. “Not the one I showed you, anyway.”

“But the one she wore yesterday was.” Peggy paused, resting a hand on the bench. “I wish you had told me.”

“There wasn’t time.” He lifted one arm to rub his forehead, and Peggy caught a flash of fabric on the bench behind him. “She got your note and rushed over here, said she needed something heavy duty after all. I woulda told you if there’d been time, I swear.”

She let her head and shoulders fall, dipped the strings that held them aloft. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’m just glad she’s safe.”

When she looked up, tears had just begun to moisten her eyes. “I was so frightened…” she said, and Howard relaxed. He stepped toward her.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Your gal’s tough.”

“Thank you for keeping her safe,” she said, and she reached a hand toward him. He took it, and she squeezed it, then let her brow furrow for a moment before wrapping her arms around him.

He hugged her back, telling her it was all right, the least he could do, and she stood on her tiptoes and peered over his shoulder. Angie’s suit lay on the table.

“You’re fixing it now, are you?” she said in his ear. Every bit of him tensed like an animal surprised by a predator. She pulled away, eyes red but dry, lips pulled into a smirk.

“She told me not to tell you,” said Howard, inching away from Peggy.

Stepping past him, she ran a hand over the armor. Her fingers probed the bullet lodged in the chestplate. “Where is she?”

“She explicitly said not to tell you.”

“ _Howard…_ ”

“She’s upstairs,” he said. “I had Jarvis put her in one of the suites to rest. Dammit, Peggy, she’s gonna kill me. You’ll protect me, right, if she tries to kill me?”

Peggy chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”

* * *

 

The door stood in front of her, a canvas of streaks and whorls, filling her vision. She raised a hand to knock, let it settle by her side. Raised it again. Squeezed until her nails nipped her palms and her knuckles burned.

Her fist met the wood like a judge’s gavel.

She waited.

“Come in,” said Angie, her voice small. Peggy clamped down on her racing heart and stepped into the room.

A breeze tickled her cheek. Light sifted into the space from the balcony, guarded only by curtains billowing like clouds. The curtains fell together and wafted apart, revealing the world beyond like frames of a film strip:

Angie, palms resting on the railing, face turned to the sun.

Angie, turning, her shirt collar pulled loose by the wind.

Angie, lips parted, hair caressing her skin with the whims of each gust.

The wind slammed the door closed. A crack appeared in the barrier between them.

“English—“

“Angie, I—“

Like an engine failing to turn over, they sputtered to a halt.

Angie ran a hand over the balustrade. “Howard told you I was here.”

Peggy smiled. “Not willingly.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Angie chuckled. “I’d’ve folded too, if I was him.” She plucked at her costume, the trappings of her alternate identity. The shirt had been cleaned and pressed—Peggy sensed Jarvis’s hand—and without the bulk of armor beneath it, Angie swam in it.

Peggy swallowed as the wind lifted Angie’s collar and dragged it open again. A bruise smoldered beneath the fabric, the corona of something even darker and angrier.

“Is that where he shot you?” Peggy asked, and Angie looked down. She shrugged.

“Yeah. Looks worse than it is.” She glanced up again. “How’s your shoulder?”

Peggy mimed Angie’s shrug. “Hurts worse than it looks.” Their eyes met. Angie chuckled.

“You’re terrible, English.”

“I’m sorry, darling.”

Angie hugged herself tighter. “There you go again,” she mumbled to herself.

“What?”

“Nothin’.” Angie loosed her arms. “So, you just come in to check on me?”

“I was worried,” said Peggy. She fiddled with the hem of her jacket. “I thought you should know that Danielli is dead.”

“I know. Heard you shoot him.” Angie leaned back against the balustrade. “Good riddance.”

“Yes,” said Peggy. “Though… he wasn’t working alone.”

Angie sighed. “Yeah, I figured.” She turned to face the outdoors again, leaning on the railing. Her head drooped between her shoulders; the clouds drifted overhead and the sun peeked out, dousing Angie in its glow.

Peggy waited. The wind tugged at her clothing like a child seeking to draw her into a game. She remained still.

Angie lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder. “English, get over here before I drag ya over.”

Feet moving before she could reply, heels sinking into the carpet, Peggy reached the curtain, pushed it aside, and stepped onto the balcony. Angie smiled up at her, sunlight casting her hair like bronze.

“There,” said Angie. “Better, right?”

“Much,” said Peggy. She returned Angie’s smile, but the memory of Danielli slumped over his desk returned to her, and the smile wilted. “What are you going to do now?”

“You mean, Danielli’s partners?” Peggy nodded, and Angie sighed. “I’m gonna go after ‘em,” she said. “Don’t think there’s anythin’ else for it. If they’re the kind of people who would work with a guy like Danielli… well, I don’t want those people messin’ with anyone else’s neighborhoods.”

She lifted her head, pushing herself upright. “I don’t think I can stop this,” she said. “I started it and… maybe someday I’ll get to the end, but not yet.”

With a rustling of fabric, she turned to Peggy. “So?”

Peggy mirrored her. “What?”

“Last time I saw you—and I mean not in the middle of a firefight—I figured it was the last time I was gonna see you.”

Gritting her teeth, Peggy traced the grain of the marble beneath her fingers. “That was my intent.”

Angie crossed her arms and leaned one hip against the railing. “But you’re here now.”

“I was…” Peggy’s tongue twisted. She shook her head, hoping to loosen the knot. “I want to apologize.”

Peggy turned, blood draining from her face, to find Angie: one arm propped on her hip, the other propping her against the balustrade, and the combination stretching the shirt across her shoulders and pulling it open at her throat.

“I’m sorry,” said Peggy. “I was scared… so scared of losing you.”

Angie nodded slowly. “I know.” Her eyes searched Peggy’s. “I forgive you. I was pretty set on bein’ mad at you forever, actually, you got shot and I…”

She dragged a hand through her hair and the gesture that followed spoke of helplessness. “I knew it didn’t kill you, but I never thought…” She shrugged. “It was like a switch in my head. I was never gonna forgive you, then I did.”

When Angie finished, her eyes met Peggy’s again, and Peggy gripped the balustrade for fear she might fall.

“You forgive me.” Her hand freed itself, trembled into the space between them. “You… Angie… I don’t…”

“You don’t gotta say anything, you know,” said Angie, meeting Peggy’s hand halfway.

“All right,” said Peggy. She was a survivor tossed into the sea, and their hands were a rope, and she pulled herself toward Angie.

They folded together, hands clasped. Angie’s free hand slipped to the small of Peggy’s back. Peggy’s cupped Angie’s cheek, and Angie leaned into the touch.

“You still scared?” asked Angie.

“Yes,” said Peggy.

“Me too.” Angie squeezed Peggy’s hand and inched closer, until their bodies meshed like the teeth of a zipper. “I’m not runnin’ away, though. You gonna run away on me again, English?”

“No.” Peggy’s eyes fluttered to Angie’s lips. “Never.”

Angie shook her head. “You promise me,” she said. “ _Promise_ me.”

“I will never run from you again,” said Peggy. “You have my word.”

Twisting their hands apart, Angie grinned. “And you got mine.” She threw her arms around Peggy’s neck, tugged her in, and kissed her.

They both yelped.

Angie pulled away, curling around her bruise, and Peggy cradled her shoulder. They winced and hissed and swore, and then their eyes met, and they fell together laughing.

“We’re a mess,” said Angie.

“A bloody disaster,” said Peggy. She straightened, sloughing her giggles away like scales from hot-forged iron. Her fingers trailed down Angie’s open collar, just brushing the skin beneath. Angie shivered.

“You know,” she said, “I reckon that gunshot wound ain’t really that bad.”

A smile creased Peggy’s lips. Her hand dropped to the button of Angie’s shirt and she reeled Angie in. “And I’ll wager that bruise isn’t quite as nasty as it looks.”

“I barely feel it.” Angie’s hand trembled to Peggy’s neck and each of her fingers alighted on Peggy’s skin, like sparks cast from a flame.

“Angie?” Peggy leaned in, her breath a wave breaking against the shore of Angie's lips.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Angie grinned into Peggy’s embrace and dragged Peggy in; Peggy’s shoulder screeched in protest, but she brushed its concerns aside. When they pulled apart, Angie bounced on her toes and capped their kiss with another. “I love you too,” she said.

Then she seized Peggy’s hand and dragged her into the room; they vanished behind the curtain, bruises, bandages, and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished! I intended for this to be done Tuesday, but the end just wouldn't cooperate! I decided not to delay any further; I said it'd be a week and it's been a week and two days, and I can't drag my feet any more.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the ride. I put a LOT of work into this story, and while there are places where it could be improved (*growls at the ending*), I'm pretty proud of it. If other people like it, too, that's just icing on the cake. :)
> 
> This fic comes in at a whopping 17.2K words; when I first conceived of it, it was a cute Peggy-teaches-Angie-self-defense one shot, maybe 2K words at the most. I also had the concept for an Angie-as-vigilante rolling around in my headspace; I must have tripped at some point, because the two ideas collided like giant balls of clay and resulted in this beast of a story. I can't say I mind; I like writing short fiction but I've got a soft spot for plot and action. Even my fluffier works have a spot of drama in them.
> 
> Anyway... THANKS FOR READING! Please, please, please comment, share your thoughts, whatever they may be! I love hearing from you!


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